Kirkwall, Kinloch, and Hawke
by lizzyno
Summary: Lillian Hawke comes to Skyhold. Inevitably, it all comes back to Cullen. (This is not the only chapter! I will update ASAP)


Lillian Hawke was in Skyhold.

Cullen's temple throbbed. The scar on his mouth- a last souvenir from her armored fist- ached already.

No, he'd later informed an amused Leliana, he had not gone outside to greet her. He'd watched the return of the Champion from afar- the safety of the battlements. He was right to do so too, judging by the Cassandra's barely concealed snarl, which was visible even from his secure position.

Varric edged just a bit closer to the Inquisitor.

Cullen cracked a slight smile. He imagined this whole business was originally planned to be a quiet affair, out of sight and mind. Hawke was hardly an uncontroversial figure.

Hawke was also hardly one for quiet affairs.

She'd strode in as if she'd flung the great gates apart with her bare hands, her massive battleaxe balanced easily across her shoulders and her Champion's armor removing any doubts about her identity.

People gawked as she strutted past them, nudging shoulders and exchanging whispers. _Is that the Champion?_

As if the question needed answering. If anyone hadn't read _The Tale of the Champion,_ they were living under a rock.

An enviable position. Cullen's grip tightened on his sword, feeling the first pangs of guilt in his gut. It would have been easier to see a different Hawke. A crueler Hawke. Yet, despite his most desperate efforts, he could find no difference. Her pale-blonde hair was still cropped, and even from his position on the battlements, he caught the glint of her flinty obsidian gaze in the midday sun. As sharp as ever. Even the battleaxe- Carver, she'd christened it- appeared as shiny and large as the day she'd fled Kirkwall.

The Champion ascended the steps like an angel of death come to greet the Inquisitor. She displaced Carver from her shoulders in a single fluid swing, gracing Lavellan with a wide grin.

Hawke swung about that axe far too easily and smiled far too widely for Cullen's comfort. He tried and failed to imagine how on earth she'd stayed in hiding so long.

Her shoulders back and head high. Still.

There was a time he stared at her with contempt. Wandering around Kirkwall with apostates, hiding her sister, arguing with him about the Chantry.

It wasn't as if he agreed with everything she'd done. But he'd forgotten his duty. A Templar protected mages, too. Cullen had done nothing of the sort during his tenure as Knight-Captain.

He turned his gaze away from the Champion.

Cullen's career as a Templar was saturated with regrets, something he'd hoped to put behind him. Kirkwall and it's conflicts were a large part of his existence for a time, but he tried his damndest not to think of those years after Kinloch. He was finished with the Order now, in the process of cutting off their hold on him. He thought that the Inquisition would be his penance.

Thinking one thing, yet doing another. Cullen had grown quite used to it these past ten years.

Thinking what he did about Surana, yet turning away. Demanding the execution of her peers.

Thinking Meredith was slipping, yet executing her will.

Thinking he could outrun lyrium, yet feeling the ache for it every day.

Hawke laughed- a jovial, lively sound that carried even to his position. Varric clapped his hand on her shoulder, doubling over in unison with her. Cullen remembered a laugh like that, from another person. Another time. Bethany shared her sister's laugh.

She shared it with all the other mages in the Circle, even as the ropes that bound the Circle grew. Ropes he had helped tie. An iron fist squeezed Cullen's chest.

It struck him that he'd never gotten the chance to apologize.

His hands clenched the cold stone of the battlements to keep himself grounded. His efforts were futile, the chill only serving to stiffen his fingers. His mind drifted. He thought of Meredith's punishments, prejudice, blood magic, desperation, and Lillian Hawke.

"Maker's breath," Cullen muttered, suppressing a shudder. A brief rush of relief coursed through him as he watched the Champion's form slowly diminish as she, the Inquisitor, and Varric left for a more quiet setting. Excellent idea, he mused to himself. He would do the same.

Cullen spun on his heel and walked smartly back to his office, for once happy with the mountain of reports cluttering his desktop.


End file.
